Hard science?

Pure mathematics formulae

Are you a hard or soft scientist?

According to one 19th century science philosopher, the hierarchy of scientific disciplines is strictly segregated with physics and chemistry at the top, biology somewhere in the middle and social science towards the bottom (while astrology and homeopathy must occupy some nether-regions in the bowels of patently unscientific pursuit). The stereotypical view of hard scientists; scrawled equations, incomprehensibly complicated diagrams and lab coats which have definitely seen better days is in stark contrast to their soft scientist cousins; glorified stamp collectors who get into a tizzy over the finer details of the classification of the lesser-spotted something or other. There’s even a hard/soft distinction within biology; surely playing with genes, molecules and machines that go “ping” must be far more scientifically rigorous than conducting habitat surveys or behavioural experiments? I’m not suggesting that societal perception of scientific research is always so limited but the underlying biases, however subconscious, do remain.

The perceived differences between hard and soft seem to stem largely from the degree of mathematical theory underpinning your research. Physics involves maths; maths is hard therefore physics is a hard science. In contrast, traditional biology is merely comprised of learning the parts of the body and possibly frolicking in a few fields. There’s little or no maths involved so biology must be soft. Gross simplifications they may be but I think these views echo the underlying biases of many people, scientists included. They are, needless to say, rubbish.

For a start, maths is inescapable in all sciences. Elaborate equations filled with strange symbols are alive and well in all aspects of biology and social sciences. Ecologists are no more immune from the necessity of mastering mathematical concepts and techniques than their physicist brethren. Admittedly, the prominence of maths does vary according to research discipline; theoreticians are far more likely to be concerned with the finer details of some statistical method than the field biologist applying that method to study changes in squirrel populations. However, to claim that modern research in traditionally softer sciences is any less maths-reliant than the hard sciences is clearly misguided.

So if maths is inescapable does that mean that all science is hard? Well yes. To the extent that all, true science (i.e. hypothesis-driven, testable predictions with proper application of the scientific method) involves maths then yes all science is “hard”. But the application of mathematical techniques doesn’t necessarily deserve the exalted position it receives. Quantitative tests and mathematical models are all well and good but they’re virtually meaningless without real-world observations and predictions as their basis. Maths must be informed by the “softer” side of qualitative scientific observations.

Similarly, maths can be difficult, sometimes even impenetrable when it reaches the upper echelons of some complicated proof for a theory which you don’t understand in the first place. But I don’t think that maths deserves to be seen as any harder than other subjects. Leaving Cert students are now awarded bonus points for passing higher level maths. While the scheme has encouraged more students to stick with higher rather than ordinary level maths it also has the unfortunate effect of perpetuating the view that maths is harder than any other subject. Hopefully the new Project Maths syllabus will help to knock maths off its rarefied pedestal and make it more accessible to students (although the desired effect does not seem to have kicked in yet).

So break down the scientific class structure and don’t be intimidated by the special scientists with machines that go ping. Rather than nonsensical notions of hard vs. soft or hierarchies based on who uses the most complicated maths, it would be far more productive to concern ourselves with the distinction between good vs. bad science. The differences can sometimes be hard to spot but critical understanding of which scientific findings to trust is far more important than any outdated rivalries between the frizzy-haired physicists and glorified beetle collectors of bygone eras.

Author: Sive Finlay, sfinlay[at]tcd.ie, @SiveFinlay

Image credit: Wikimedia Commons

Disney Ecology

LionKingCharacters

In light of the current stresses of exam season, I have been contemplating my parallel educational history. Of equal, if not superior, importance to any stage of my conventional academic life, I have had a Disney education. If I visit medieval castles or forts rich in feudal history I can’t help but mentally locate Rapunzel’s tower and contemplate the prince’s access route. My Greek mythological references are entirely based upon Disney’s Hercules and any mention of Rudyard Kipling is incomplete without at least one verse of the Bare Necessities. Zoological education is no exception. Early Disney films were rather loosely based on real zoological principles – I don’t remember Snow White using any Pavlovian theory to behaviourally condition her furry friends to help with the housework. Similarly, Mary Poppins serenaded an American robin from her London home because studio executives thought the sight of a European robin would be too confusing for their target audience. However, some recent Disney tomes are more grounded in realistic ecology. Disney was my first introduction to fundamental ecological and behavioural concepts as varied as breeding coalitions, mutualistic relationships and inter-specific communication.

Responsible for introducing Swahili phrases to a generation of Timon and Pumbaa fans, the Lion King is a Disney classic, both as a film and more recently as a highly popular stage musical (which is coming to Dublin soon – even if you don’t normally like musicals you must go to this show for the most incredible stagecraft you will ever see). The film marked one of the first times that animators made a specific effort to study their animal subjects to make their movements and behaviours as realistic as possible. Prior to the release of this film, my four-year old self didn’t know that male lions, often brothers, form coalitions to take over prides or that female lions take a cooperative, crèche approach to raising their offspring. Cooperative behaviour in lions continues to spark interest and research to understand why lions are unique among big cats in exhibiting these social tendencies. Of course, some creative licence remained in Disney’s depiction of their feline heroes – the voice of Darth Vader is sadly absent from the Serengeti and male lions don’t lead a troupe of goose-stepping hyenas in a song of revolution. Similarly, rather than a “king and queen”, there’s an equal dominance status within male members of a coalition and within adult females in a pride (unfortunately socially equal characters don’t lend themselves easily to a re-telling of Hamlet). Despite the sprinkle of Disney magic however, the basic ecological premise of Simba’s pride remains grounded in fact.

My ecological horizons were further expanded by Finding Nemo’s depiction of the mutualistic relationship between clownfish and the anemones they call home. It’s a deceptively simple relationship – the anemone’s sting provides the fish with a predator-free habitat while Nemo and his friends help keep the anemone free from parasites. However, many of the finer details underlying this interaction continue to spark research interest (and I’m obviously not the only one to have experienced a parallel Disney education). Nemo has provided evidence that mutualistic interactions tend towards a nested structure. More recently, the way clownfish move their fins has been identified as helping to increase anemones’ oxygen consumption at night – although, hampered by a malformed fin, I wonder whether Nemo’s personal anemone is gasping for breath a bit more than the other anemones? Furthermore, Finding Nemo did not neglect my geographical education – I now know that to get from the Great Barrier Reef to Sydney it’s just a short ride on the East Australia Current – and if I meet a turtle on the way, just call him “Dude”, Mr Dude is his father.

Thanks to Disney, Nemo’s pal Dory is another star of every aquarium. Forgetful but lovable, Dory was my first introduction to the realms of interspecific communication. While Dory speaks whale, it appears that some whales can learn to talk back. A captive beluga whale in San Diego seems to modify its call to mimic human speech. Neither of these examples are true interspecific communication; Dory’s valiant efforts to converse were unsuccessful and the Californian beluga’s “human” vocalisations appear to be relicts of an ability to mimic other whale species.  In both cases, information is not passing between fish and whale or whale and human. Though who knows, perhaps Finding Nemo 3 will be a story of the quest to discover the Rosetta Stone for interpreting whale speech…

So through the talking animals, improbable alliances (why a meerkat and warthog??) and heart-warming moral tales, look out for the ecology in your next Disney film. Combining their subliminal ecological messages with the excellent work of the Disney conservation fund hopefully many more generations will experience a Disney ecological education.

Author

Sive Finlay: sfinlay[at]tcd.ie

Photo credit

wikimedia commons